One Final Adventure

Ribbon Falls, Grand Canyon.

Some deaths are harder to take than others. This was a hard one for me. Dave was someone I saw nearly every day and heard his voice. I can still hear it in my head. It is as clear as if he were with me right now.

Dave and I have many of the same interests. We are both avid hikers, although he has far out-paced me in that category. He once told me that he may not have enough money to travel to exotic places around the world, but he certainly has enough till fill up a tank of gas. We are blessed to have some of the best hiking scenery in our backyard: Buckskin Gulch, The Subway, The Narrows, The Wave.

He loved to take his family. On his desk is a picture of he, his wife, Vickie, and five kids posing at the edge of a red-rock canyon somewhere near Moab. His son, Josh, tells the story of hiking the 12-mile long Narrows when he was ten years old, and the Virgin River being so high that his dad had to carry his pack so it didn't get too wet. This was the hike when he got the birds-and-the-bees talk.

Bright Angel Trail in the Grand Canyon, 2010.  Dave Bolton on right.  This was our rim-to-rim hike.

Havasu Creek, 2010.  Dave is on the left. (Russ Eyre photo)

On the trail to Havasu Falls.  (Russ Eyre photo)

David Bolton was my boss, but I also considered him my friend. Over the years we have done a handful of hikes together, including Havasu Falls and the Grand Canyon, rim-to-rim.  We have slept under the stars in the middle of nowhere, stayed in a simple lodge in Supai Village, ate breakfast at five in the morning at a cafe in Vegas, searched for Aron Ralston's choke-stone, and have had several spiritual discussions together.

As we traveled, most of our discussions centered around past adventures. He was always fond of his backpacking trip with his son and a friend through the Wind River Mountain Range in Wyoming. The hike was 85 miles long and took about a week. He was so worried about his son's pack being too heavy that he emptied his own food and carried his son's. When he returned to work he was twenty pounds lighter and still looked exhausted, but swore that it was the greatest adventure he ever had.

Lots of stray dogs near Supai Village.  Dave is in the green shirt.

Early-morning breakfast at the Havasupai Tribal Cafe.

Dave raises his arms in triumph at Navajo Falls.

Just last summer he was at it again, but this time on the Colorado River. He was anxious to pull out his phone and show a video of he and his son on separate inflatable kayaks called duckies. An eddie pulled them both under and Dave was underwater for nearly a minute. He said it was black and quiet. He thought it was the end, that he would die. He prayed fervently that his son would resurface. In spite of the situation, he said there was a peaceful feeling. Then, at once, he felt as if an arm had grabbed his shoulder and pulled him above water. His son had resurfaced shortly before him. He was so grateful to be alive.

That was typical Dave. He seemed invincible.

Dave, at left, relaxing in Havasu Creek in 2010.  Robbie Armbruster, seated; Russ Eyre, standing.

Little Wild Horse Canyon, 2017.

The last time I spoke to Dave was on Friday. It is interesting that neither of us were supposed to be at work that day. I was supposed to be on vacation, but came back a day early because I couldn't get Saturday off. Dave was supposed to be on vacation also, but the Postmaster forced him to come to work. He wasn't happy about coming in because he had a lot of packing that had to be done.

As I passed by his desk his face lit up and he asked, “John, have I told you what I'm doing next week?” He then went on to explain that he and the scouts were hiking Coyote Gulch, and possibly a couple other slot canyons. Then they would hike down Hole-in-the-Rock where Todd Boyer would meet them with his boat on Lake Powell. Then they would travel south on the lake where they would spend a night or two near Rainbow Bridge, then come out at Wahweap, where they would drive to St. George and cap off the week with a trip to the temple. He was so excited. He had been planning this trip for a long time. I was excited for him. I was anxious to hear every detail when he got back.

Five days later, on Wednesday morning, I knew it was no ordinary morning when I came to work. Everyone was gathered around the time clock weeping. I came a few seconds late and Carol turned to me and whispered that Dave had died from a heart attack while hiking. Not many details were known at the time. All of us were in disbelief. A hike couldn't kill Dave Bolton.

I later learned a few additional details. Dave had successfully led the scout group out of Coyote Gulch on a very hot day. They crouched under the shade of a juniper tree while they waited for the rest to catch up. He started getting a little delirious and talking to himself, and then collapsed just 100 yards from the vehicles. He passed away with his fifteen year old son, Jacob, holding his hand.

* * *

Dave is buried in the nethermost part of the Cedar City Cemetery. In fact, he is so far west that no one is buried beyond him. Past his grave are sticks, bushes, dirt and a little stream with trees growing along it. A very fitting resting place. ♠

Dave relaxing at Colorado River in 2010.